The proceedings are overseen by host Mike Richards, a benign, calming presence who never passes judgment on either the physical or mental clumsiness of the contestants, although he occasionally finds it hard to suppress a bemused smile. (Richards has hosted for the past two seasons; Bryan McFayden was the host for Season 1.) Over the course of seven episodes, the contestants ideally should get to know each other as people, not as types, and learn to recognize that all human beings have their insecurities. And in the end, their confidence should get a boost, too: The guys get makeovers (to a person, they all look much better "after" than "before," with the simple addition of better-fitting clothes and a few grooming tips), and they learn to think of their intelligence as a benefit, not a liability, when it comes to attracting women. And the women, who have too often been allowed to coast on their looks, recognize that they're able to think for themselves -- and, ideally, they learn that the best way to meet a nice guy is to give the quiet, shy ones a chance.
OK, so there's also a cash prize of $250,000, to be split by the winning team. And there's an elimination process in which emcee Richards asks a series of questions that the contestants must answer correctly to stay in the game -- although even then, Richards always effects a reasonably believable façade of regret when he has to ask a losing team to "leave the mansion."
But what sets "Beauty and the Geek" apart from other reality shows -- particularly the dating shows -- is its marked lack of sadism and smirkiness. I confess I've never been able to watch reality dating shows beyond a few minutes caught on the fly. In the bits I've caught while channel-surfing, I've seen displays of phony emotion cranked up for the camera, and occasional glimpses of human beings who were genuinely disappointed, neither of which I can take pleasure in watching. Most shows seem to be fashioned around some prolonged scheme in which the race to find out who's going to be rejected and how is slow and excruciating. Some shows, like Lifetime's "Gay, Straight or Taken" (in which a woman contestant has to figure out which of three guys is suitable, available date material) and MTV's "Exposed" (in which dating candidates' voices are analyzed with lie-detector software), involve painfully belabored gimmicks. Some people may find these shows fun, or at least addictive. But elaborately manufactured deceptions, in the context of so-called reality, just don't do it for me.
But even if "Beauty and the Geek" sometimes does suffer, as other reality shows do, from delusions of grandeur (early on, the show was sold by its creators as "the ultimate social experiment"), it's so sweet-natured that it somehow feels less contrived than other reality shows. You find yourself wanting to believe in the contestants' capacity for transformation; to see them fall brings no real pleasure -- although when certain annoying, intractable or even possibly devious contestants are eliminated, it's completely natural to feel at least a flash of relief.
So now, at the very end of Season 3, we're left with two teams duking it out for the prize: Megan Hauserman, "Playboy Model," and Alan "Scooter" Zackheim, "Harvard Graduate"; and Cecille Gahr, "Bikini Model," and Nate Dern, "Singer: Star Wars Band." Those convenient identifying handles, bestowed on the contestants in the first episode, may be the show's own mischievous nod to the way we size people up and categorize them before we even know them.
In the course of the previous episodes, we've lost some contestants who didn't seem to be catching the transformation wave quickly enough, like the clueless Piao Sam ("Only Kissed One Girl"), who was overly obsessed with, you know, boobies. (It's OK to be obsessed with them, but there's no need to wear a sign around your neck advertising it.) Other contestants had so much unforced charm and charisma that it hurt to see them go: Everyone in the house -- and, I suspect, everyone watching at home -- liked the funny, articulate Mario Muscar ("Owns 25,000 Comics"), who also had the most elegant carriage of all the guys. By the time he was eliminated, he seemed completely comfortable with who he is and how he looks, which pretty much embodies the ethos of the show. (Post-makeover, he earned extra points from me for his stylin' two-tone shoes.)
Next page: Blondes vs. brunettes!